“Tap, tap, tap.” I know I just heard someone knock at the front door or at least some half ass attempt at a knock. Better get up before she does. Don’t want to deal with any kind of shit, big, small, or fucking in between. As I walk my mentally burned and worn out body I hear Moms cat Pickle yowl in the den. It sounds like her cry for attention. I’ll remember to give her a little snuggle time once I tell the asshole at the door I’m not interested. I almost trip into the foyer. Never could grasp why the foyer was about two inches shorter than the flooring in the rest of the house. Fucking thing is a freak accident waiting to happen. Some how though I have survived many times. I’ve tripped and busted my ass over it coming in through the front door completely wasted on nights I can’t remember. The bruises on my body the next day were the only indicators of a night that could have been quite good or have gone badly. I learned not to think too deep into “black outs.” Your friends always make sure to let you know what kind of asshole you were the night before.

As I open the door with an irritated, “What?” Twat is staring me in the face. She smirks for a second and in grand Twat fashion, “So I heard ya got some?” I uncomfortably smile back and pull her inside.

“How’s she doing anyway?” The question almost sounded like Twat was interested in knowing how my whacked mom was doing.

I just let out a half cocked, “How do you think?”

From the look on Twats face she didn’t need to hear an explanation. My room is downstairs and I’m thinking not sure how long I’m going to be here this time. With my upcoming assault crap it may be a little longer than I had hoped. The thought of hanging myself from a bed sheet from the exposed piping in the basement flashes quickly through my mind.

The door to my room creaks as I open it letting Twat pass.

“At least it’s decent down here.” Sometimes I’m not sure if Twat even knows she’s being offensive. I don’t care anyway, I’ve known her long enough to know she means nothing by it.

“If I don’t keep it clean down here asshole, some sort of organization in my life, it may just be the push that throws me over.” That thought and the bitter imaginary taste of beer make me shiver in my moment of mental relapse. Better however than a “using dream.” Even though Dee and Twat still get in their share of trouble they have been more than supportive of my recovery. I keep them around for that reason and others. They both can get me pissing my pants when I need a good laugh and well Dee, yeah, well Dee.

“We don’t need you getting back into that shit.” Twat is legitimately concerned.

I simply utter back the obvious, “I remember, that’s not exactly something you forget.”

After a few minutes and some settling in sighs, Twat punches me in the leg. The twin bed shakes against the wall, quite the audible thud. Bringing girls down here back when was a challenge. Many times I just ended up propping them up on my desk, pushing a copy of, “The Clockwork Orange” off to the side as I dropped to my knees for a taste.

“So spill?” Twat clearly has waited long enough to get the word on my adventure or conquer. She finds either word appropriate no matter the company. For me, I’m not sure if either fit. I’m almost aggravated to even discuss it with her. I’m not embarrassed, hell no, the flood gates were very open with her. I’m just not sure how I feel about her and unlike Twat it is not in my character to have sex with anyone I don’t have some semblance of feelings for. It’s only been a few weeks and still a lingering intense feeling of guilt is thick within me. Confusing cause I don’t have a damn thing to feel guilty about. If anything it was well deserved, almost as awesome as my one year chip. I should be fist bumping with the butchies and grabbing my crotch.

“There’s nothing to really tell. It was sex.”

“Fucking fuck Burge, you know I need details. What the hell? It’s been months for you, months and you have absolutely nothing to say?”

All I see as Twat tries her best begging is Dee. Quickly, every last ounce of mental acuity left in me, I must change the topic. Twat senses my uneasiness and knows details are not going to happen, at least not today. She takes the lead and changes gears. The flash of oozing blood in a sink pops into my tired brain.

“When do you go in for the assault?” Twat is hesitant to ask.

“About two weeks. Public defender thinks I should just plead guilty. She’s pretty sure community service is the only thing in my future, it being my first offense.” In my moment of deep content Twat let’s out a humorous and guttural laugh,

“Thank fucking god you didn’t get caught for any of that other shit.” I definitely needed that. “Not to break this bonding moment between us but, how are you and Dee?”

Fuck, there it is! “I haven’t seen her in a few weeks so I’m not really sure.” This time instead of Twat punching me in the leg she just places her hand on my knee.

“I’m sure there’s not a damn thing to worry about. You guys have seen some shit. I don’t see anything ripping you guys apart.” Looking down at her hand and letting her know with my eyes that I accept what she has said, my mind and heart question differently.

The court room door opens behind me. God please, please, don’t be her. Where the hell is the fucking judge? My mind is all over the place. The old lady walks in, black suits her. Damn, I wonder what she is wearing underneath that robe? I love that I can still humor myself even in the most tense of situations. My hands begin to sweat. The anticipation, not knowing can motivate the most sane of individuals to do macabre things. My stomach begins to burn with the sensation one gets right before they shit their pants. Aiyana is here for support.

“Young lady, have you spoken with your counsel and how do you plead?” The depth of her voice was kind of hot. A soft cough from the back of the court room breaks the muggy silence. Instinctively I turn. Nobody can look at me like that. Aiyana, her eyes on me the entire time, behind her, Dee.

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About PJ Secluded

Introspective writer working on first manuscript. Writer of original series, poems, musings of sorts and the occasional manic prose.
My main blog is an original series seen through the eyes of the lesbian protagonist Burgess. With her brood of studs, they conquer fear and tragedy, embracing love and the experiences between close friends.
I have been writing for just a little while now and found a true passion for it. I want to help others through my writing discussing sensitive issues that affect the LGBTQ community in a unique fashion